Craving
by SmallSerpent
Summary: Albus Potter knew his place, especially where a certain Slytherin Head Boy was involved. Until, that is, the night that the Head Boy in question decided to change the rules. SHM/ASP SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

**Tick-Tock. **

The clock strikes ten, and you turn the page without sparing me a glance. The other four are absent; one graduated, two yet to enter today, and Rose and I long since finished with our good-nights.

We now enter our second hour of complete silence, save the scratching of a quill on parchment, or the turn of a page that I believe remains the only sound you ever make in this room. All other noises annoy you, I know this much, though over the seven years since we first set eyes on each other, not once have you deemed me worthy of verbal reprimanding, or anyone else in my circles, for that matter. You could always silence even James with the simplest glare.

**Tick-Tock.**

I look down at my Herbology essay. If a word other than 'dreadful' exists to describe my abilities in the class, I could never think of it, and no amount of patient tutoring from Professor Longbottom would cure that. I passed my O.W.L. on pure luck. The essay question worth fifty percent of our score happened to ask about gillyweed, a plant my father's told me loads about. You, on the other hand, seemed to master the subject on your first day. I often found you excelling _everywhere_ I failed. You became Head Boy, and I would forever remain the scrawny boy you put in detention once a month. You passed your O.W.L.s with "O"s in everything from Arithmancy to Charms. I hardly managed three "E"s. No matter what model broom I got, or how many nights I spent wasting countless hours practicing in the back yard with my parents, you _always_ beat me to the snitch.

And yet, I wonder if you've even noticed. You never gloat, despite your pedigree for it. Sometimes I would swear you never even look at me, unless to give me detention, attempt to kick me off my broom, or glare at me with those eyes the color of ice-storms. Have you even noticed I'm alive?

**Tick-Tock. **

One might think, if one lacked the brains of a mandrake, that this room would bring us closer. Hardly. We all happened to know about it, the six of us. One day my three walked up here, and there you sat, reading. You glared at us, yet we sat down anyway. This continued for the next two years until my little sister and younger cousin joined us. Despite all of this time together, a single word has yet to pass between a member of our party and you in this room. We've known forever that you are the forbidden one. Untouchable. We don't talk to Slytherins.

**Tick-Tock. **

In the tiniest of glances I catch the cover of your book; Legilimency, Level III.

A shock of fear runs down my spine. Are you reading my mind right now? I avert my gaze and turn my back to you as much as I can.

I accidentally move the chair as I move. The scrape of wood on carpet, though quiet, makes you look up.

_I'm Sorry..._

**Tick-Tock. **

I need a reason to move, any reason.

An open window materializes on the wall, and the temperature of the room drops ten degrees instantly.

Your eyes turn into daggers. Cold, unfeeling ice daggers that would steak my heart and pull it right out if they could.

I smile pathetically, and quickly move to shut it. The moment the latches click the glass vanishes from beneath my hands, replaced by solid stone.

**Tick-Tock. **

I clear my throat. This earns me another glare.

"So... What are you reading?"

You wait until the end of the page to even acknowledge me, "Nothing that concerns you."

Yet again, I find I can only smile pathetically in response.

"So... What are you taking this year?"

You glare again, "Everything."

I roll my eyes, "Come on. What could telling me hurt?"

With one swift movement of your very annoyed hand, you pull a golden time-turner from beneath your shirt. "Everything, alright?"

I laughed slightly, "Is there anything you can't do?"

You glare at me again and raise your wand. For a moment, I think you might hex me... but no, you simply mutter a soft spell that tints the page red, marking your spot, before slamming it closed with echoing force.

"_Albus Potter_," You hiss my name like an angry serpent. You rise, wand still out. "Do not laugh this off. Do you know what my life is like? I have quidditch practice and Head Boy duties, every god-damn class offered, and I need time to relax and keep my sanity. When I want to do that, I come here. How much do you think I enjoy being pestered by little Gryffindor boys?"

I flinch away, knowing that fighting you would be a completely lost cause, "Look... Scorpius... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude on your relaxing... I'm sure you lead a very busy and frustrating life—"

"I've lived every day this year at least twice." You say casually. "I can only be thankful that we live in a time where Time-Turners have anti-aging clauses."

"**Very** busy." I agreed, "I'm sorry. Why do you do all that stuff anyway if you don't like it?"

**Tick-Tock. **

**Tick-Tock. **

**Tick-Tock. **

Damn that freakishly loud clock. The seconds drag on like hours.

And then you sigh and sit down.

"I have to."

"Why? Who's making you?"

"My family." You tell me quietly.

"I don't understand..."

"Of course not!" You look up at me, and the anger is back in your eyes. "You come from a great family! Perhaps the best in all of England! I—"

"Scorpius your family is held in high esteem by—"

"**Do not bull shit me, Albus**."

This time, the anger in your eyes is so powerful I freeze. A shiver runs up my spine, ordering me to my knees, but I ignore it.

You get a hold of yourself once again, sigh, and go on. "I come from one of the wealthiest families—**the** wealthiest family," You correct yourself, "But I do not come from anything like the best. Albus, I've had three Gryffindor first years, on separate occasions, ask me if I'm a Death Eater in the last week alone. Admittedly, that's a bad week even for my family, but you can only hear things like that so many times before it starts to get to you." You sink back into the chair, practically shaking, "We, the four of us... my father, grandparents and I... **vowed** that I wouldn't make the same mistakes... and _Salazar,_ does the list of mistakes drag on..." You shut your eyes for a moment, "My father and grandfather were Death Eaters, so I have to become an auror, despite that it means taking damn near every class in the school...so when third year rolled around... my grandfather said that it would be selling myself short not to just take all of them... and I have to keep my grades at the top of my class, because my father always lost to your aunt... My father could never beat yours at Quidditch, so now I have to beat you even if it means killing myself... my father dropped out as prefect after his fifth year, so I had to stick it out until I became Head Boy..."

You look up at me, but now the anger is gone, replaced by an electric fear, though for or of what I don't think either of us are sure.

I come near you, and I relate in the only way I can.

"Scorpius... You have a lot to live down, I know that... but I have a lot to live up to... I mean, when my father was my age he was on the run from the government trying to save the entire freaking wizarding world by defeating the worst Dark Lord of the last three centuries! Do you know what a lazy little arse that makes me out to be? Do you know how many times growing up I had to hear, 'Albus, if your father can kill a basalisk you can get an E in herbology!' 'Albus, I didn't save the entire world so that my son could get an A in Defense Against the Dark Arts!' 'Oi! Dad made seeker in his first year, and it took little ickle Albus until he was fourteen!'..." I gaze at you, praying you would understand that I was trying to help, even though that attempt was dreadful.

Then, after enduring seven years of our uneasy acquaintanceship, you found a new way to surprise me.

You smiled.

In the first second, my heart froze. In the next it began to flutter like a newly hatched butterfly, and for once not a trace of fear of you exists in my eyes.

"Do you run away?" You ask me quietly.

"To where?" Comes my trembling answer.

"Anywhere; To London, to your mind," Those eyes, just as mysterious in your current state as in your agitation, begin to examine every inch of me, from my loosened uniform to my bare arms, and ending once again on my flushed and burning face. I couldn't figure out if my uniform protected me or hurt me here,"Or in your body. What do you do, to get away?"

"I don't know," Only a half-truth,"I... Do you...?" I swallow hard, and gather my courage, "Did you want to... take a break... from it all... together?"

"With so many boys at my disposal, when I need release, I often..."

I remember nothing but a blur from there until I felt the stone wall peeling the skin off my back. Your tongue fits so perfectly in my mouth, making me dizzy with nameless emotions and probing my soul. Cold air crashes over my chest when you begin to undo the buttons on my shirt, hardening my nipples. A red and gold tie crashes to the floor. Your fingers brush my chest, moving reverently over the nipples, and slipping down my stomach...

Until the curfew bell rings, and you pull back, and a light comes on in those tributes to winter that you call your eyes.

"I have rounds," Your breath ghosts over my lips.

"Your time turner?" I suggest hopefully.

You shake your head, "This can wait."

But you promise me another go. It comes not in words, or even in the shy, almost embarrassed smile you flash me, before a look of concentration crosses your features, but in the way you bend down as I fumble with to re-button my shirt. It comes in the way that your fingers close around scarlet material, and then wrap it around my neck. You smooth it out and straighten it with more care than you would ever touch your own uniform with, not stopping until you deem it the picture of perfection.

Then you smile softly once again, scoop up your things, and begin to walk away.

"Detention!" I call after you, as a sudden rush of desperation overcomes me.

"I'm sorry?" You spin and stare at me one more time, devoting your full attention to me, and making me understand why you are the boy that younger students fight to be mentored by. The book that made me writhe with worry ten minutes ago now hangs by your side loosely, non-threateningly, and above all uninterestingly.

"Give me detention," I plead, not entirely sure why, "Give me a detention with you, and..." I see no need to finish, so I trail off and let your imagination fill in the gaps as I gaze at you with the eyes of a frightened kitten.

And you smile at me again, this time with adoration. "And take all of the excitement out of it?" You ask me. "No. I wouldn't dream of it."

**

* * *

**

Author's Note

**: I understand that this was quite strange, I really do. More detail on why Scorpius did what he did will come later, if I decide to continue this. It stands decently as a one-chapter, but I am already day-dreaming about a second part, so we will see what the summer brings us. **


	2. Chapter 2

I close my eyes, and I _feel_ it; Gryffindor red, smooth beneath my fingers, nearly weightless, and a direct link to you. What more could a Malfoy ask for? Could anyone, above all my father, who I _know_ had less-than-holy urges for your sire, blame me for touching it?

And everyday for the month since that night in the Room of Requirement, I touch it. I may find the chance in potions while I pass back essays. When I hand you an A, I frown at you like a parent, and drop a comforting hand on your shoulder, or squeeze it in congratulations if you earned an E on the essay, but either way, when I pull my hand away I let my finger run along the material of you tie, so quickly that no one else could ever notice, but slowly enough that you understand the meaning. I often find the chance in the Great Hall, sitting with my back to yours. I stand, always finishing my meals before you, and grab you discreetly as I pass. A thousand opportunities a day present themselves to play with you.

And yet, Albus, for all that I tease you, I find myself afraid to keep my own repeated promise.

In no honest way can I call myself a virgin. I lost that right my fourth year, and since find no qualms about taking that right from the many little boys who make up my entourage. Indeed, watching boys from all houses and all walks of life fall into my circle of worshipers, where they would so willing give me anything I asked of them proved... fun, for a long time. It quickly became my sweetest form of escape from the stress of everyday life. No harm ever came to any of them, so I felt no guilt. I would never force them or fool them with lies about my feelings for them. When I wanted to screw one of them until his body could take no more of it, I told him. Malfoy get what they want, and they have no need of underhanded tricks.

And when I was done... well, I always had our little room to go to. I could relax there. Within the Room of Requirement, I found no schedules, no teachers, no referees... it might seem like a blissful escape in its own right, but for...

You, Albus Potter. For five years, I viewed you as a rival, nothing more... and then, one fateful day during our sixth year, after a match where you came so close to defeating me, we both went up to the Room to finish our homework. Neither of us realized while we walked that we shared the same destination, until we circled the same spot three times, looking at each other suspiciously all the while. My hand moved to push in the door, but yours, almost as though to compensate for losing our match, moved much faster. Your hand fell onto the handle, and mine landed right on top of it.

I shot you one of the world-famous Malfoy glares, and you blushed as you pulled your hand from beneath mine, bowing your head and surrendering control of the door to me. As I watched that blush spread over your face, you looked so lovely...

You lost the match, but in that moment I lost my heart.

I would never let you know that, though. My Malfoy genes forbid it. I couldn't view you as your own person, as something I could love, any more than I could view myself as my own person capable of love. We needed to remain, in my mind, forever the reincarnations of our still-living fathers. I wouldn't see us as human. I viewed myself as the new, improved Malfoy, and you felt like the same old Potter my father often spoke of. My place in life became to defeat you at everything I possibly could, to prove the worth of my family over yours. If I grew to love you more than I loved myself, then I would prove years of hard work wrong.

I held the door open for you, and trained my eyes on your face as you went past. The blush faded when you took your seat, and I relaxed. As long as you kept silent and showed me absolutely no emotion, I could get through this. When you behaved like a statue, writing your essays or reading your books, you wouldn't seem real. I could think of you simply as a rival, the son of the great Harry Potter, not something human.

For a year we survived as such. Then, out of the blue, you got the bright idea to _talk_ to me. I've no idea what gave you that idea. Perhaps I'll never learn. Perhaps Fate simply felt playful that night, and there we sat, ripe for the playing.

When you reached out to me, the first thing I felt surprised me; anger. It amazed me how you just couldn't understand what my family put me though to beat you. I couldn't become your friend. If I became your friend then I deemed you worthy, and I just couldn't...

And then you tried to relate to me. You showed me emotion. You forced me to view you as a human.

And not just any human, no, you became a human that I wanted, not just as a sex object, but as an actual long-term lover.

And yet I clung to the sex-object notion. I tried to think of the boys I who accompanied me to bed regularly, and I tried to turn you into one of them. I pinned you to the wall, and I got rough with you. I could deal with this if it would contain itself to a physical attraction.

Then the bell rang. The cold, unfeeling bell that timed the schedule that kept my life in check, my intellectual master, reminded me who I was.

But I see the hope, the almost need, in your eyes as you silently beg me to stay, and it physically aches to disappoint you. I could leave you with only a promise. My mind, even now, pleads with me to break that promise, but my heart would never allow it.

And so you own me. I would leave it all, I think. My enormous mansion, my demanding but proud grandparents, my doting mother, my distant but encouraging father, my house-elf who worships the ground I walk on, and my museum of every toy or trinket I ever thought to ask for mean nothing now. It would take only a word from you, the only master that I really want, and I'd never see any of it again.

And now I sigh as I resign myself to another sleepless night, the latest of many while I think about you.

I dress quickly, careful not to wake my dorm mates, and decide to abuse my privileges as Head Boy and take a walk. Thanks to us frequently needing to patrol the halls, no one ever questions a Head Boy when they find him out after hours. Of course they wouldn't bother to. As I leave the dungeons, I find my feet traveling the exact same path they often do when on duty.

When the corner of my eye first catches a movement behind me, I shoot down the idea of bothering myself with it. Neither the boy doing such a poor job of avoiding me nor I had permission to run around the castle at this hour of night (well, at this hour of _this_ night, anyway), so I might as well let him go, as a favor from one rule-breaker to another.

My feet continue along the path they know so well, and my eyes begin to trace the lines on the stone in front of them, confident that I won't hit anyone this late at night.

And this I attribute to Fate feeling playful once again.

I turn the corner, and I step right into you. A crunch echoes softly through the corridor as you drop the bag of chips you stole from the kitchens.

"Scorpius..." Your stolen goods are forgotten in an instant, and I feel the warmth of your breath caressing my face as you speak my name.

"Albus," I acknowledge, already fighting to keep my composure.

You stare at me incredulously.

"I..." You stammer, "I'm sorry..."

The words wouldn't register. I dig through my mind to figure out what _you_ might apologize for—what you _know_ you should apologize for, at least—and come up with nothing.

"How long do I have detention for?"

Oh, you'd fallen for my 'Head Boy on duty' disguise, then?

I smirk. All resolve is gone.

"Do you still want it?" I ask, fingering that tie of yours once again.

"What?"

"The last time we spoke, you asked me to give you detention so that I could finish... Do you still want that?"

You hesitate for an entire millisecond before nodding eagerly.

"Then let's start it now and just see when it ends." I grab you by the tie and pull you into the nearest classroom, the Charms room, though my mind hardly picked up on that.

My fingers slipped into the folds of your tie and pulled it off of you with one quick tug.

I want you.

I open your shirt as quickly as possible, taking no care not to snap off your buttons or tear the fabric. For once in Malfoy history, appearance means nothing.

I need you.

And the pants come off easily, taking your boxers down with them. My fingers dance over your thigh, and I revel in the gasp you let out when I stop at your erection.

"I love you." It escaped me, until I saw the doubtful look in your eye, that these words were spoken, not thought.

"Really?" You ask, pulling me to my feet.

I swallow. Thanks to the nerves, my own saliva goes down like a handful of glass.

"Yes," I confess. The word floats through the night air. Surely the entire castle hears it... "For the longest time, Albus..."

"Good," You sigh as though some great weight rose off your chest. "I was so afraid that you'd reject me if I told you..."

"You two?"

You smile, "Since we were first years."

Ah, so you had endured for far longer than I had. It evades me whether I should be grateful or ashamed, but all I really feel is dizzy. My own clothing vanishes at twice the speed of yours, and I find your tongue down my throat, and my body bent backwards over the rough wooden tables.

When you finally pull back, our eyes meet in the silent understanding that it is time, at last. I fall to my knees, and I'll hear no arguments. You missed the chance to claim my virginity, but you will certainly become the first boy ever inside of me.

Your erection may have been a sugar quill, it felt so sweet in my mouth. My lips curled around it and I began to suck like it was the most natural thing in the world. With every quick gasp that my tongue forced out of you, our souls fuse.

When you finally lose it, for the first time in my life I don't know or care who I am. I'll never forget the look of bliss on your face.

You pull out of me, and I swallow what I can of your seed.

You move on quickly though, never one to think only of yourself. You kneel before me and nudge my own thighs apart.

The moment your hand wraps around my aching erection, I lose all coherent thought. You pull and you tease steadily for what may have been a minute or a year before I release all over your fingers.

When I open my eyes, you're licking your own hand clean. I watch this for an entire minute before you feel my eyes on you...

And you blush. It's the same blush I fell in love with, and everything is perfect.


End file.
